


I've Never Been More Ready to Move On

by tryslora



Series: Sing For All the Broken Things [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Break Up, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Drummer Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Singer Derek, Singer Jackson, There is no Make Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Stiles wants to do is help his old friends out getting their band started. Derek is jealous and unwilling to see the truth. Stiles has had enough, and things don't end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Never Been More Ready to Move On

**Author's Note:**

> This story fits between the spaces left in the first story of this series.
> 
> I am going to be blunt here: this is a break up fic. It's part of a series, and if you read the other stories in the set, you'll see which relationship is past and which is future. Just be warned that there is no post-argument makeup sex or anything. Anyway, I asked for ideas for the prompt, and someone mentioned the cold of a relationship dying, and I remembered this band!AU ‘verse I sometimes noodle around in, and I decided to put together another perspective for that. While this fits in with the other pieces, it stands on its own. The title is a line from the song "The Sound of You and Me" by Yellowcard. As always, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

He might be lost in the heat of the moment, but Stiles feels dead and cold inside, his heart turned to ice and breaking into a thousand pieces. Derek just stands there, stoic and arms crossed while Stiles tries to keep his voice down. No one else needs to know their business. No one _can_ know their business. After all, it’s not like they’re _out_.

“You know what, Derek?” Stiles throws his hands wide, lets them flop back down. “I give up. You won’t listen to reason.”

“You won’t tell me the _truth_ ,” Derek growls, and Stiles grits his teeth against a scream.

“I am _telling_ you the truth,” he says slowly. “You won’t _accept_ it because you are so fucking _blind_. There is _nothing_ between me and Jackson, although I’m starting to think maybe there should be. Maybe it’d be better than what you and I have because this?” Stiles gestures between himself and Derek. “This isn’t a relationship. Not any more. I’m not sure it ever really was, when it only existed in a hotel room or on a tour bus. When it’s hidden from everyone else and I can’t even fucking _look_ at you on stage without Kate saying that we need to be more careful or else the fans might leave us behind, because _obviously_ them lusting after us is the only hook we’ve got. Not like it’s even about the music. And you know what? I don’t care any more. Next time they ask,” he jabs a finger in the direction of the front of the hotel, as if he can point at the reporters that must be lying in wait. “Next time they ask, I’m telling them the truth. Not about you,” he sneers. “About me. Keep your closet. I don’t like them.”

Derek’s breath is slow and even, bulky shoulders rising and falling with each inhalation and exhalation. “If you go out tonight, don’t come back.”

Stiles takes a step back, because he wasn’t expecting that. “Is this you kicking me out of the band? Have you talked to Laura? Erica? Isaac? Do you have another drummer lined up to take my place? Planning on buying me out of my rights to the music?”

Derek rubs at his eyes. “I’m not kicking you out of the band. But I’m not going to fucking sleep with you after you’ve been with Jackson.”

“This is not about Jackson.” Stiles is tired of saying it, tired of trying to prove his point. “But fine. If you’re so fucking jealous, I’ll crash with him tonight. You can spend the night thinking about what you think we’re doing. Get off to my imagined affair, have angry sex with your right hand, I don’t care. I can’t deal with this anymore, Derek. I’m out.”

He’s sure Derek is saying something behind him as he turns to walk away, but he won’t listen, striding quickly as he exits the hotel and into the light. There’s a pop of a flash, a click of a camera. Isn’t it nice how digital cameras still have that lens click so you can hear them as if they were film? He can always tell when the paparazzi are nearby, but at least this crew is careful enough to stay out of the way.

Whatever.

He pulls out his phone, sends a quick text and calls a cab. Derek doesn’t matter anymore; Stiles is going to have a good night without him.

#

They’ve been jamming for three hours and Stiles is hot and sweaty, his t-shirt discarded somewhere, his pants stripped off to leave him in only his boxers. Scott is shirtless, his jeans hanging low on his hips, and Danny is lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. Only Jackson still looks perfectly put together, a faint frown furrowing his brow. “There’s something missing,” Jackson mutters.

“Piano.” Stiles offers a rueful look. “When I first had the idea for the riff, I was thinking of my own band, and we’ve got Isaac. Scott and Danny can mimic it on the guitar and bass, but without either a second guitar to play into the melody, or someone on keyboard, it’s not going to sound right. Have you thought about bringing anyone else in?”

“Dude, we haven’t even thought about finding a drummer.” Scott sets his bass on its stand, moves past it to the bar where there’s a pitcher of water and a pile of snacks. “No one plays like you.”

“Lydia played classical piano,” Danny offers. “Don’t you remember her doing those recitals when we were kids? Then she quit in middle school, claimed she didn’t have time.” He glances over at Jackson, raises an eyebrow. “Call her.”

Jackson glares. “Are you kidding? Most bands have relationship drama _after_ they start. Bringing in Lydia would be bringing in all our past baggage. Not a good idea.”

“I’m over her.” Stiles raises a drumstick, lets it fall with a sharp bang. “You’re over her. You might as well ask. Maybe she knows a drummer, and she could fuck _him_. She’s sure as hell not going to fuck Danny.”

“I’m not going to fuck _her_ ,” Danny corrects him. “She’s not my type.”

“We know.” Stiles twirls the drumsticks in his hand, idly tapping out a beat between spins. “It’s not a bad option. Call her. See what she thinks.”

“What about you?” Jackson sits on the edge of the table, wipes his face off with a cold cloth. “We need a drummer, Stiles.”

“I have a band.” It’s getting harder and harder to sound like that’s important, and Stiles can see the doubt in their eyes. Scott looks between him and Jackson, and just shakes his head. Stiles wants to tell him it’s not like that, but Scott already knows. It’s just about the music, dude.

Besides, Stiles _has_ a band. He’s been on the road since he got out of high school, after hooking up with Derek and Laura, when they pulled in Stiles, Isaac, and Erica. They’re hot, with a hit already from their second album, and they’re in the middle of getting ready to go into the studio to lay down tracks.

Stiles is supposed to be writing the songs for that third album. _This_ song was supposed to be for that album, but Stiles can’t have Derek sing it. Not these words.

Scott touches Danny’s arm and the two of them walk out, leaving Jackson staring at Stiles.

“It’s going to be an open invitation,” Jackson says quietly. “It’s _your_ music we’re working on right now. Your words.”

“Our music,” Stiles corrects him. They’ve put it all down together, spent hours upon hours working out the melodies and lyrics, pulling enough together that the small group can put together an EP and try to get some visibility out there. “And I’ll play for you in the studio, I already said I would. But I can’t go on tour with you. I’ve got—”

“Arguments?” Jackson asks. “Jealousy? You’ve got what… loyalty to someone who doesn’t even trust you to tell the truth when you _do_ tell the truth?”

That cold feeling is coming back, spreading like ice through Stiles’s body, seizing his heart in its grip. He chokes slightly, leans forward against the kit and closes his eyes. There’s a small spot of warmth on his back, growing as Jackson rubs circles against his skin, light and soothing, melting the ice inside until Stiles can breathe again.

“He’s giving you panic attacks,” Jackson says quietly.

“I feel frozen.” Stiles gestures with a stick. “I feel like I’m dead inside, like I’m going to crack the next time he lashes out with his words. And I can’t give him anything I write right now. I can’t do it. I’ve been working with Erica, letting her take the lead. She picks a theme and I help her make it right, but none of the lyrics are _my_ words, nothing that’s _my own_ is working right now for the band.”

“You could let him sing this and he still wouldn’t see what he’s doing to you.” 

Stiles laughs bitterly. “That’s just it, Jackson. He knows. He doesn’t expect me to come back. He thinks I’m fucking you right now, and he thinks this is all about sex. I’ve told him about Scott and high school, and everything we did back then for music, and he just doesn’t get it.”

“He wants you so fucking much that he thinks everyone else does too.” Jackson nudges Stiles. “You’re not my type, asswipe.”

“As if I’d let you anywhere near my dick,” Stiles grumbles back. It all still weighs too heavily on him to think, makes him shiver when he tries to make any sort of decision. “I just can’t figure out what to do.”

“Talk to the others.” Jackson smiles thinly. “Talk to the reasonable twin. Talk to Isaac and Erica—I know they remember us from high school. Decide where you want to be. Do they know you’re fucking him?”

Stiles chews at his lower lip. “Not in so many specific words, no. They all know I’m bi. They don’t know for sure that he’s gay. And we try to be circumspect. Derek’s not ready—”

“To come out.” Jackson finishes the sentence and Stiles knows it’s been said too many times in recent days. “I know. But this looks like it’s killing you.”

“That’s over dramatic.” But it’s not really _wrong_ either. Stiles feels smothered, buried, trapped. He feels like he fell through the hole in the ice and Derek is standing right there, refusing to help him out because as long as he stays under, he belongs to Derek alone.

“It’s your decision,” Jackson says, finally moving away. “I don’t have any impact on it.”

That’s not true either. Scott is Stiles’s best friend since they were children, and Jackson and Danny are just as important. Stiles wants to help them out, wants to see them get their big break just like he did. “I’ll figure it out eventually,” Stiles mutters. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

“I know.” Jackson picks up his acoustic guitar from the corner, gestures at the spot where Stiles’s Ovation sits. “We’ve got a song to work on. Let’s see if we can hammer out the rest of it before Scott and Danny get back.”

Stiles can lose himself in this, the push and pull of working with a good partner. He can forget about Derek and all the drama of his band, forget about not knowing where his life is heading.

This is what’s important to him. It’s all about the music.

Maybe it is time to move on.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
